Monday, December 05, 2005

This Just Proves That Crafts Are Dangerous and A Bad Thing

On Saturday we had a bunch of friends over for the evening, and what can I say, the party got kind of out of hand and, well, I wound up with a black eye. I offer this as evidence that I am still a party animal, and that Iowa, mortgage, and offspring have in no way slowed me down.

Or I would so offer if it weren't for the fact that the offspring were responsible for the eye. It went like this:

As you probably know, if you host a party for a mix of adults and young children, you end up generating amazing chaos, and spending most of your time trying to fill wine glasses and organize hors d'oeuvres while signalling to your spouse that your youngest child really should get put down for bed RIGHT NOW and asking people if they've seen your oldest anywhere recently. I don't know about you, but I always end up feeling like I'm somehow ignoring both the guests and my kids, and that both ends of the equation must be wondering politely what the hell's going on and when are we going to eat? Still, I enjoy it (on occasion) and the offspring certainly thought it was the most exciting thing, like, ever.

Anyway, after supper, as the chaos simmered down to the relaxing-with-wine-and-picking-at-leftovers level (and the leftovers were amazing, especially the Timpano, and you know who you are, Ms. Chef!), I headed down to the basement to relieve The Tall Doctor, who was doing Rabbit Duty. That's another part of the party deal: you and spouse take turns watching the kids, so whoever's not watching can have a drink and five minutes of adult conversation. The Tall Doctor had done more than his share of child-minding, as is his wont, so I went off and found him talking to a friend, while said friend's eighteen month old son and the Rabbit ricoccheted off the furniture, the walls, the stairs, etc. I sat down, we all kept talking, and I failed to notice that the Rabbit had picked up a paper flower in a plastic pot (result of a craft project at the Children's Museum, which just goes to prove my point that crafts should be avoided at all costs, always) and begun swinging it around.

I failed to notice, that is, until the pot connected with my eyebrow. I mean, POW! WHANGO! SHAZAAM! WHACK-WHOOPTY-DOO! I doubled over, clutching my head. All crowded around and expressed concern. And when I picked up my head, it turned out that while the Rabbit hadn't succeeded in breaking the skin, he HAD managed to bust a little artery just beneath it, so that a goose-egg of epic proportions had blossomed in, literally, fifteen seconds. I mean, it was huge.

The Tall Doctor ran for ice, which I applied with good results. I sat around feeling sorry for myself with my friend, who is a hospital chaplain and a mother and therefore exactly who you want at such a time, and after a while I came upstairs and let everyone admire my egg. Did I mention it was huge?

I have to confess, though, that nothing much came of it. I was expecting five colors of bruise the next morning, but other than a soft lump, I got nuttin'. It seems a pity. I was hoping to go back to work at the ER sporting a serious shiner, and I was looking forward to lying about how I got it, but it seems it's not to be. And after I--or rather, the Rabbit--went to all that trouble!

Anyway, it was a great party.

5 Comments:

Blogger SER said...

In case anyone were to doubt Bihari's truthfulness, I can confirm that the lump on her forehead was huge - comically huge. It would have been alarmingly huge instead of comically huge if it had happened in my household, but since Bihari and the Tall Doctor are medical professionals, they were able to avoid rushing off to the ER in a fit of screaming, which would have been my approach.

9:16 AM  
Anonymous MFA Mama said...

Bihari--LOL! You sound pretty much like me, but with one less child and more medical training. Just discovered you via a comment you left on Midwestern Deadbeat...rock on.

12:34 PM  
Blogger Grendel said...

Not that I wish I could have seen this, but I surse -- CURSE -- the flu bug that kept us away from this cuisine and excitement.

5:30 AM  
Blogger Masked Mom said...

This reminds me of the time (unfortunately not so long ago) when Son-One was "tossing" a volleyball across the living room to one of his brothers and pegged me right in the side of the face with it. The bad thing is that at this age (17) he's much stronger than he was at Rabbit's age. But the good thing is he's way more responsive to guilt. I milked that moment for a week!

8:20 PM  
Anonymous Sarah said...

ohhh! I curse the distance that keeps me from attending such a party! Will you please throw a similar shindig the next time you're in Boston and arrange for the Rabbit to wallop you with something?

Sending a big kss to the comically huge head-bump.

10:47 PM  

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